Para
Troopers
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The Games
originated in 1948 in Stoke Mandeville, England, where neurologist
Ludwig Guttmann organized a sports meet for World War II veterans
in wheelchairs. Competitors from Holland joined the Games
four years later, then Rome staged the first Paralympics in
1960. There were 400 athletes from 23 countries, but wheelchair
was the only disability category. The Games now include six
disability groups and the number of athletes has grown tenfold
in the past four decades, but the Paralympics are still in
their infancy, and few athletes can afford to pursue their
sport full-time. In some ways this is a plus: it's allowed
the Paralympics to escape the taint of corruption and commercialism,
and kept them closer to the Olympic ideals.
Not that
they are squeaky clean. There have been drug cheats and athletes
who have underplayed their abilities to gain an edge in the
classification process. "They're no angels," says spoc chief
Appleby. The Paralympics has the same list of banned substances
as the Olympics, and random, out-of-competition tests will
begin on Oct. 11, when the athletes' village opens. Appleby
says it's a myth that all the Paralympic athletes need medication
for their health: "Very few of them take drugs. Those who
might be [prescribed] a banned substance declare it and it's
checked out."
Perhaps
the biggest fairness issue is the technology gap. This year,
for example, a leg amputee in the 100-m sprint could break
the 11 sec. barrier with a carbon-fiber foot component, based
on a curved spring that gives the runner a push-off. New technology,
combined with better training, has sent records tumbling,
and athletes from poorer countries just can't compete. Some
of them wheel into the village in cumbersome day chairs, which
they roll to the starting line alongside lightweight, high-tensile
sporting machines. "In the future it's felt there will be
almost two types of Games-for the Haves and the Have-Nots,"
says prosthetist Mark Hills, who will be working at the Paralympics
repair center. The C-Leg, a $27,000 electronic knee joint
that mimics a natural gait, won't be used at these Games because
it's deemed to give an unfair advantage. As yet, though, there
are no design restrictions on other prostheses or on wheelchairs-except,
of course, that they cannot be motorized.
Amy Winters,
who won 200-m gold at the 1996 Paralympics, began running
with a prosthetic arm 18 months ago, mostly to help her spring
off the blocks. "It looks almost like a baton, so I get a
lot of jokes when I'm running a relay," she says. The 22-year-old-who
was born with one arm that stops just below the elbow-holds
the world records for the 100 m and 200 m (12.49 and 25.97
sec.) in her amputee class, and is considered a guaranteed
gold medalist in Sydney. But Winters remains cautious-the
media pay little attention to Paralympic athletes, she says,
so she's not necessarily aware of her competition. "It's so
possible for new athletes to come along who haven't been involved
before-people who might have had accidents."
Winters
has been racing since she was nine, and always against able-bodied
athletes. Over the past 20 years more Paralympians have been
training in able-bodied squads, and performance standards
have risen accordingly. These days, too, athletes increasingly
align themselves with a sport rather than a disability. After
all, many don't feel they have a disability. Australian swimmer
Priya Cooper has cerebral palsy, but when her school teacher
told her about the Paralympics, she remembers thinking: "I
don't think I'll be disabled enough." She swam at both Barcelona
and Atlanta, collecting 12 medals-eight of them gold-along
the way.
The 26-year-old
does her warm-up stretches by the pool at Sydney's Manly Swim
Centre, grabs a post to haul herself to her feet, then walks
jerkily to the water. Cooper ploughs through the pool using
only her upper body, while her legs trail behind her. "She
can put up with the pain because she's used to it," says her
coach, Narelle Simpson. "Priya never complains. Never." Cooper
will compete in at least six Paralympic events this year,
including freestyle, backstroke and individual medley; no
swimmer on the Olympic team carried that kind of load. "The
public doesn't understand how much training these athletes
put in," Simpson says. But Cooper takes it all in good humor:
"You still get people saying, ŒIsn't it wonderful you're out'-like,
in public. And you have to say, ŒNo, it's not wonderful, really,
getting up at four in the morning.'"
Libby Kosmala,
who's about to compete in her eighth Paralympics, has seen
a dramatic shift in public perception. "When I first went,
it was Œa few sports for the disabled'-that was the government
attitude," she says. "It was seen as welfare, giving people
something to do." The South Australian, who has spina bifida,
originally competed in archery and the pentathlon, but shooting
has been her only sport since 1980. Shooting from a wheelchair
may not sound any more difficult than doing it standing up,
but it's a question of balance. "It's like sitting in a bowl
of jelly," she says. "From the middle of my stomach I have
no feeling, no muscle control, no movement. I have to be strapped
into the chair or I'd fall out."
Kosmala
is 58, but this year has been one of the most successful in
her sporting career, and in Sydney she hopes to add at least
one Paralympic gold medal to the nine she already has. In
preparation, Kosmala practices shooting for 12 hours a week,
on top of swimming and gym sessions and a psychological program,
which includes listening to tapes and visualizing the perfect
shot while she irons clothes or does the dishes.
The athletes'
training regimes may be as strict as those of the Olympians,
but their triumphs over adversity offer even more inspiration,
says Australian chef de mission Bird. "It's bringing people
with disabilities out of the closet and saying to the public,
ŒDon't feel sorry-celebrate their successes and use them to
motivate yourself.'"
Greg Smith
is a case in point. He was a physical training instructor
for the Australian Army when, in 1986, he fell asleep at the
wheel of a car, hit a tree and broke his neck. "It was pretty
horrific, especially being 19," Smith says. "Your life's only
just beginning. You're discovering the sort of person you
might be, the things you want to do in the future." Smith
was in hospital for six months, and spent half of that time
on his back, staring at the ceiling. "There were lots and
lots of low points," he says. It was eight years before he
fully accepted his disability. Wheelchair racing, which he
took up two years after the accident, helped. Smith is ranked
in the top three in the world in his quadriplegic classification
and currently holds the world records for the 800 m and 1,500
m. He's often asked to speak to men who have recently been
paralyzed, but he says that if they're not sporty to start
with, he's wasting his time. "It's important mentally," he
says, "to get off your bum and just live again."
Despite
the training and the talents of the participants, the Paralympics
have never been, and never will be, just about sport. "Whether
they want to admit it or not, every Paralympian has had a
handful of people who've put them down because of their disability,"
says Sachs. "We've always got something to prove, no matter
how many medals we win. There's always problems, the little
stares, people's perceptions."
The athletes
say the hard part is getting bums on seats, but they are confident
that once people watch the sports they'll be won over. Swimmer
Cooper says: "People who come to the Paralympics will realize
that it's not a game, it's a commitment-and a real battle
to see who's going to have the most guts on the day." The
athletes will parade their sporting prowess next week, but
all of them will have proved their guts long before they file
into the stadium.
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October 16, 2000
| NO. 41
C
O V E R
COVER:
So Long, Slobo
In a stunning climax to an electoral impasse, a street-level coup d'etat
captures Belgrade and forces Milosevic to cede power to Vojislav Kostunica
and a once disunited opposition
S
P O R T S
PARALYMPICS:
The Can-Do Games
In Sydney, the world's most outstanding disabled athletes prepare to put
their talent and training to the test
T
H E A R T S
MUSIC:
With a spectacular new album, British rock quintet Radiohead reinvents
itself-and maybe rock
CINEMA:
As a bad guy, Jeffrey Wright makes good Samuel L. Jackson gives Shaft
a makeover
BOOKS:
On the road with Einstein's brain dance: Bangarra creates magic with a
message
U
N I T E D S T A T E S
CAMPAIGN 2000:
Who's With Stupid?
The candidates are caricaturing each other: Bush is a servant of the rich,
Gore of Big Government. Do the labels fit?
TRAVELER'S
ADVISORY
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